Fly On The Wall
by Moxified
Summary: From the very moment he met her, he had thought she was brilliant. Her voice was kind and her eyes warm, her smile was blinding and she was ruddy well perfect. That's why he stayed away. Trigger warning for domestic abuse.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

 _"Who in the world am I?"_

 _\- Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland_

* * *

 _"Father … please …"_ the young boy choked through pained sobs, trying to shield his tiny body.

"Notts do not weep, Theodore," growled the domineering figure of Thoros Nott, his face cast in shadow, looking as if he was thirsting for blood.

Theodore flinched, as the pain fell upon him once more, burning its way from his ribs to his chest. _"Father, it hurts."_ he wailed.

"You will take your punishment like a man!" Thoros barked, backhanding his son across the face -leaving angry red skin behind..

 _"I won't do it again, Father! I promise! Father —"_ he bit back a strangled cry, knowing that if he screamed the pain would only double.

"What did I tell you about those filthy Muggles, Theodore?" The former Death Eater said, eyes glinting in malice at the sight of his young son crouched in the corner of his study.

 _"They're dirt, nothing more than rubble under my feet. I'm sorry, Father! Please!"_

The agony ceased suddenly, allowing the child to gasp for badly needed air.

"It seems as if your lessons aren't reaching you well enough, Theodore." The man hissed, pulling him up by his dark curls, "This is the last time I catch you running around with that Muggle wench."

 _"Father! No! Don't hurt her!"_ Theodore screamed as his father moved back. His cries transformed into strangled silence as he was once again hit with a wave of pain. He struggled towards the door in vain, grabbing at his father's robes as he disappeared behind it as it closed with a loud thud.

He lay in bed later that night, having fallen into a fitful sleep, waking up each time he twisted his body the wrong way. It was the sixth time he was woken up by the pain when he realized, with bleary eyes, that his room was bathed in an orange glow.

He stood quickly, hissing in pain at the abrupt movement, but forcing himself up anyway, he swept aside his sketchbook – he had been drawing before nodding off to bed, unable to sleep immediately. . His father would not be happy if he had overslept again. Just as he was about to reach his closet to change, a piercing scream shattered the silence of the night, jarring him wide awake.

Theodore rushed to his window, ignoring the pain that shot up his leg as he did so and he looked out with eyes widened in horror as the house next door was engulfed in flames, the fire stopping mere inches before his own windowsill, yet his own house remained untouched.

Another sharp cry broke out and Theodore tore himself away from the hot glass as the telltale lights and sirens of a muggle fire truck appeared below. He pulled the sheets over his head, trying in vain to silence the sounds of his friend crying for help. The boy willed himself to forget the sinister image of a man cloaked in dark robes standing in front of the burning building with a malevolent grin on his face.

* * *

"I expect nothing but the best from you, Theodore." his father glowered from the doorway, stern features folded into a mask of indifference. "I pray you do not disappoint me."

"Yes, father." Theodore said stiffly, clutching his satchel tightly against him.

"Mopsy!" Thorus barked, eyes not leaving his son's thin reedy form.

"Master calls, sir?" the tiny house elf spoke cautiously after popping into existence.

"Take Theodore to the station. When you're done with that, bring me a drink in my study."

Theodore knew his father well enough to know that "a drink" did not mean a cup of tea and was exceedingly relieved that he would not be home for the night of chaos to follow it.

He held onto the house elf's thin hand, eyes never leaving his father's retreating figure. "Let's go, Mopsy." he said flatly, itching to get away.

The elf gazed at him with adoring eyes and nodded obediently before pulling him into apparation. The odd pair appeared in the middle of a busy train station, hustle and bustle surrounding them as parents hurried to bid their children goodbye.

" _Oomph!"_ Theo huffed, as he was unceremoniously shoved by a passerby.

"Oh, sorry there, mate." A squirrely voice said apologetically. It came from a rather tall looking red headed boy already donning a pair of slightly scuffed school robes - a Weasley by the look of him - who was looking down in surprise. Theo muttered that it was fine under his breath and stepped aside to allow passage.

"Master Theodore promises to be a good boy, yes?" squeaked the house elf still standing next to him. Mopsy had climbed onto his trunk to be able to look directly at him.

"I promise, Mops." he said, allowing a small smile to appear on his face. "I'll be back before you know it. Remember what I told you about healing yourself, yeah? It's never your fault, no matter what father says. Don't punish yourself. I forbid it."

The house elf nodded jerkily, to Theodore's relief, it had taken him ages to warm the tiny creature to the idea of healing himself after his father's rages. Now that he was out of the house, the main recipient would most likely be Mopsy.

"Is Little Master needing Mopsy to help bring his trunk inside?" he squeaked.

"No, Mops, I can do that. You go on ahead." The elf nodded and popped out of view.

Taking his trunk by the handle, Theodore smiled knowingly to himself, wondering when exactly his house elf had cast a Featherlight Charm on his luggage. He flipped the collar of his robes up, wary of attention, and cautious not to meet the eyes of anyone he knew - most notably Draco Malfoy, who had grown into a horrid child, albeit one that Theodore's father would not complain to having.

Neither did he wish to see Crabbe, Goyle, or Parkinson. The little group of snakes tested his patience greatly. Had his nose not been shoved into a book, he would have offed himself many play dates ago.

Theodore found himself an empty compartment, stored his trunk, and cracked open his sketchbook and charcoal pencils he had brought along for the journey, the blank page was quickly filled with swirls of black and white, vivid images appearing at a swipe of his hand.

Too enraptured by what he was doing, he did not notice the door to the compartment slide open, nor did he notice the soft cough that followed. Finally, his attention was stolen when a small hand tapped the middle of the page he was drawing in. He slammed the book closed quickly, hiding it with a blue leather novel he had brought in case he didn't feel like drawing.

His head shot up in surprise and he found himself face to face with a girl with bushy brown curls and dark eyes. She smiled at him warily.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, but I've been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes." she said apologetically. "The last thing I wanted to do was disturb you, I promise you, but would you mind terribly if I took a seat?"

Theodore nodded briskly and watched as she pushed her trunk, with a bit of struggle, into the compartment and sat daintily across from him.

"My name's Hermione, what's yours?" she said brightly, taking out a book of her own and setting it on her lap. It was one of their textbooks, he realized.

"Theodore." he said stiffly.

"What are you reading, Theodore?" she asked curiously, ignoring the fact that he had his his sketchbook from view immediately, and focused instead on the novel clutched tightly in his hands.

Immediately his cheeks flushed at her inquisition. "Er, it's called Alice in Wonderland I don't know if you've read it, it's a mug-"

"Oh! I love that book! My mother used to read it to me when I was younger." she gushed brightly. "I wish I could read something like that, but I've got so much to study! I never knew magic existed until a few months ago, you see, so I have to catch up-"

"You're muggleborn?" he asked, his voice trembling a bit

"Yes!" she said, "Are your parents magical?"

He nodded stiffly.

"Oh, you're lucky, then. I've been reading non-stop trying to acquaint myself with the magical world, there's so much to know and -"

"Er, I'm sorry, is it alright if I go back to my reading?" he said, wincing at how impolite he sounded.

"Oh, of course," she said, looking abashed, "I'm sorry for disturbing you, Theodore."

He knew it was for the best that he never spoke to her again, that it was for both their own good that he just stuck his nose into his book and never glance her way. But he couldn't shove down the thought that had entered his mind as he watched her open her own book out of the corner of his eye.

He had never heard his name said so softly in his life.

* * *

"Theodore?" her voice broke the silence after a few bourse once again. He raised his head warily, meeting warm brown eyes once again. He wondered if a charcoal pencil would to them justice.

"Neville's lost his toad." she said, motioning to the squat boy who had at some point appeared at the entrance of their compartment. "I'm going to help him find it, I'll be back later. Sorry for disturbing you again."

He nodded once before going back to his book, looking up only once to watch her retreating form walk down the train.

"Hey, mate, is anyone sitting here?"

Theodore cursed himself for once again not noticing that someone had invaded his space. He looked up to find a dark-skinned boy with bright green eyes watching him expectantly.

"Erm, yeah, but she left some time ago." he said.

"Can I sit until she comes back?" the boy said, "Can't ruddy stand the people in the compartment I was in."

Theodore nodded, waving at the vacant seat in front of him.

"Thanks, mate. The name's Blaise, by the way, Blaise Zabini." the smirk accompanying this statement suggested he boy thought his name was something to be proud of, which it probably was, since Theodore himself had heard the name Zabini thrown around his father's circle of friends now and then.

"I'm Theodore Nott." he said, then, unable to stop himself, he blurted, "Who were you with in your compartment?"

"Well, Theo," Theodore winced at the nickname but let it slide, "ever heard of Draco Malfoy?"

The look on his face may have shown a sign of his distaste for the boy, because Blaise guffawed loudly.

"I reckon you have, then." he smirked, "Well, you know what I'm talking about."

"He is a bit much to handle." Theodore agreed.

"Much to handle?" Blaise said disbelievingly, "I could barely stand him for five minutes, don't know how I sat there for four hours without socking the git in the face."

"It takes practice." Theodore said, "I usually just ignore him. Our fathers used to make us play together."

He didn't know how it happened, but the following two hours were spent with him regaling stories of Draco Malfoy and his git-ness to an amused Blaise Zabini, before the boy stood and excuse himself to go back to his original compartment.

"The train's stopping in a few." Blaise said, standing, "Wish me luck, mate."

Theo chuckled, "Good luck."

"I better see you in Slytherin, Theo, I'm not dealing with that bloody git by myself."

The compartment door closed and Theodore changed into his school robes to prepare for the train stopping. Just as he sat down again to resume reading, the door opened once more, making him wonder if he would ever finish his book.

"Hello, Theodore." Hermione said, she too was already wearing her school robes.

After a few moments of sitting in silence, Hermione broke it once more by saying, "Are you nervous?"

Theodore looked at her blankly, "No, not really."

"What house do you want to be sorted into?" she asked curiously.

"I'll probably be Sorted into Slytherin." he shrugged. "All my family's been Sorted there."

"But what do you want?" she prodded.

"Ravenclaw." The word fell out of his mouth unbidden, catching him by surprise. Why did he say that?

"Me too!" she exclaimed, her bright smile showcased a pair of dimples in her cheeks that he somehow could not stop looking at.

"I like reading, and studying - I think it would be quite nice to be in the house of the wise." she said excitedly.

Reluctantly, he agreed, clutching the book he held anxiously.

"Oh, I think the train's stopping!" Hermione said, her gaze now trained on the window, where the view of the proud castle of Hogwarts loomed nearer. Sure enough, the train groaned to a halt and the sound of students shuffling off the train could be heard outside.

Hermione, looking ready to explode with excitement shot to her feet. "Well, I hope I'll see you in Ravenclaw, Theodore!" she said, before dashing out, trunk in tow.

'Not likely.' he thought to himself. He would do everything he could not to get sorted into that house. He winced as a ringing scream wormed its way into his head, reminding him of the last muggle girl he decided to befriend.

No, he would not let that happen again. He buried her bright smile and sweet dimples and soft voice deep in his subconscious where his father couldn't reach the, and swore that he would never talk to, or even think about Hermione ever again.

* * *

He lasted about thirty minutes without thinking about her until Professor McGonagall shouted out her name into the Great Hall. _'Hermione Granger.'_ She walked up excitedly towards the Sorting Hat and the hall watched in anticipation for four long minutes before the hat bellowed "GRYFFINDOR!"

Theodore watched, as confused as Hermione herself as she made way to the Gryffindor table. Well, now fate had ensured that they would never be friends.

* * *

 **A/N:** _hey lovelies! I'm back! Updating sporadically but definitely updating._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 _"There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable."_

 _\- Mark Twain_

* * *

Theodore knew that he should have left things with her as they were. He knew that he should have turned a blind eye to the hopeful looks she sent him during those first months where she had been brushed away by her housemates. He knew that he should have ignored the hurt expression on her face when he did nothing as Draco and the others taunted and teased her endlessly.

And he had almost succeeded in doing so, if it weren't for the foreign feeling of guilt that had nestled itself in his chest, growing as the days passed. He wished that he hadn't let his curiosity get the best of him that evening when he had observed her, Potter, and Weasley huddled together from his hidden nook in the library. He wished that he wasn't so good as eavesdropping when he heard her rant about Nicholas Flamel and not being able to find anything about him.

Theodore's actions seemed to be growing more and more separate from his thoughts the more he focused on Hermione Granger. It wasn't as if she made it easy for him either. Every class they had together she was seated front and center, ready to answer any question asked of her, or demonstrate something she had perfected ahead of the rest of them.

Unlike Draco, he couldn't be bothered that the witch was out peforming him in his classes, as long as his grades were good on paper, he didn't need to do anything else. He was more than happy to get good enough grades to avoid a beating and go back to his adventure books and his drawings.

What did bother him was that she decidedly could not be ignored. Her presence was loud and bright and so easily noticed. It drew Theodore in like a moth to a flame. He had grown so accustomed to darkness and cold and silence that she was a breath of fresh air to him. He reasoned with himself that that was why he had asked Mopsy to sneak the Alchemy book from the Nott library without his father noticing.

He had convinced himself that seeing her stressed only agitated him, and if he got rid of the reason why she was stressed, he too would calm down. It had nothing to do with the fact that the longer she went on without knowing who Flamel was, the dimmer her brightness grew. It had begun to frustrate him that he could not longer see the twinkle in her eye that he so wished to capture in his sketches. So, with the stealth of one accustomed to sneaking through his own home without a sound, he dropped the book on the table she was working the moment she stood to ask something of Madam Pince.

Hastily, he returned to his seat, hidden by several bookshelves but conveniently allowing him a perfect vantage point of Granger's preferred library table.

He held his breath as she came back to sit down, seeing the unmistakable rise of her eyebrows as she saw the book that was not there when she left. He watched her the lines in her forehead deepen and her lips twist in a frown before she began skimming through the table of contents.

He saw the small gasp that escaped her in the rise and fall of her chest and watched her flip through the pages rapidly. With a widening of her eyes and a triumphant look on her face, she ripped off the page she was on – to Theodore's complete horror – and ran out of the library.

When he was sure that she had left and had waited for her to return but did not, he stood, gathering his things, and swept past her table, swiping the open book with a little slight of hand. He hoped to Merlin that his father didn't notice the missing page from it when he asked Mopsy to place it back.

* * *

She had a death wish – her and her bumbling band of Gryffindors. He didn't know for sure if the rumors spreading throughout the castle like wildfire were all true, but they all had one thing in common – Granger and her friends had all ended up in the Hospital Wing after going on an insane adventure to stop Quirrel who had been possessed by an evil spirit.

But somehow, they had all entered the Great Hall in time for the year-end feast looking a little worse for wear but definitely alive. They had also wrangled enough points to pull their house into winning the House Cup – much to the ire and anger of the Slytherins.

Theodore's gaze followed her bushy head as she joined her housemate's for dinner, watching as she conversed with one of the Weasley twins, who seemed to be harassing her for something until she gave in.

"Can you believe it?" Blaise asked, he too, was looking at the three Gryffindors. "Dumbledore's favorites always get away with everything. It isn't fair."

Theodore shrugged, not really caring about the Cup, his eyes focused instead, on the girl with brown eyes and a cut just above her left brow, "Nothing's fair."

* * *

Theodore entered second year five inches taller and none wider, with a handful of fresh scars and a darker bags under his eyes. If Blaise or any of his other housemate's noticed when he joined them on the train, they didn't say anything. Not like he expected they would, anyway. They were much too absorbed in their own lives to care about anything else.

He had hoped that it would be a quiet year. And it was, he was doing considerably well in classes, read his story books in his free time, and Hermione Granger had become a small blip in his life, only showing up when they crossed paths in the library or were together in classes. He didn't approach her and she was wary of anyone wearing a green tie.

It was blissfully peaceful until Halloween, when everything started going wonky and Filch's cat got petrified. The other houses began going out of their way to avoid the Slytherins, other students seemed to take out their frustrations by playing small pranks on the snakes, which he didn't appreciate in the least. It wasn't until the first student was petrified that the hostility began.

People began speculating on who was the Slytherin heir. Several of the other students believed it to be someone from Slytherin, of course, but he knew better. His father had made him memorize all the family trees worth memorizing, and he knew for a fact that the last of the descendants of Salazar Slytherin were all six feet underground.

Theodore should have expected it, with the recent attacks and everything. He hadn't forgotten that she was Muggleborn after all, he didn't let himself forget. But still it came as a douse of cold water on him when the announcement had been made that both she and a prefect from Ravenclaw had been petrified.

Draco especially, was having a laugh over it all, miming how he imagined Granger had been petrified at the breakfast table, receiving glares from several Gryffindors as he did so. Even Blaise gave up a smirk while watching the blonde faint against Goyle. Theodore merely kept his head down, his ever present blank mask clouding whatever indignation he held for his housemate's antics.

"Where are you heading off to, Theo?" Blaise asked when he stood to get up.

Theodore bristled at the nickname, looking at his friend nonetheless, "I left my Potions book in the dorms." he lied.

"I'll go with you then." Blaise offered, getting ready to collect his things.

"No, it's alright," he said hastily, "I'll go by myself."

Before Blaise could protest even more, Theodore slung his feet over the bench and left the Great Hall. He didn't worry about anyone wondering about odd behavior. They all thought he was a little weird anyways – he barely said anything unless he was talked to, was always stuck in a book or hiding in the library if Blaise wasn't dragging him around to hang around by the lake.

Instead of taking the stairwell down leading to the dungeons, Theodore turned sharply to take the stairs up, mindful of everything around him, if anyone could see him. Thankfully, breakfast had just started and practically everyone was in the Great Hall.

He had been to the Hospital wing before, just once, to ask Pomfrey for a Dreamless Sleep potion. The matronly woman had asked too many questions, and looked at him as if she knew what was going on. He had taken his potion, rationed it until he had no more and never gone back.

To his relief, the Hospital wing was empty, save fore the petrification victims, Madam Pomfrey was probably in her office, so he crept to the last bed slowly. The sight of her, eyes open wide in shock and limbs rigid, made him shiver in discomfort. Even her hair seemed to hold in place, which was the first time he had seen it not in a mess of curls.

Quickly, he scavenged for a piece of parchment, conjured a makeshift envelope, and left the note unsigned on her bedside table. It would do him no good to have Potter and Weasley find out that he had been visiting their golden girl.

With one last look at her before leaving, he couldn't help but think that the blank stare her still eyes were giving would look eerily haunting on the pages of his sketchbook. He stored the memory of her for later, when he would be alone and allow himself to think of her freely.

* * *

 **a/n:** Just a little more info on this story, I'm mapping things out so it won't exceed six chapters and _everything_ will be from Theo's perspective.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 _"Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not the sitter."_

 _\- Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray_

* * *

Seeing her step out of the train once they had arrived at Hogwarts for their fourth year, he had felt as if a Demiguise had crept up on him and socked him in his gut. Or maybe it was just the way he had twisted his body abruptly to look at her, making the bruises in his ribs remind him that movement was a privilege.

Nevertheless, the pain did not dim the sight of her. He supposed that expecting her to look the same was foolish, after all, he himself had grown over the summer, but still, somehow she took his breath away. The little cricket in his head shouted at him that he was treading on thin ice, she was a _Mudblood_ , she couldn't have been anything but dirty.

He silenced the voice, the rapid beat of his heart in his throat drowning out his conscience. How was she the same person? She still had teeth a little too big for her, and her hair was still a mess, but somehow, it endeared her to him. Never mind the little fact that his eyes zeroed in on the tell tale curve of her hips in her uniform skirt, or – _Merlin, help him_ – that her blouse had become tighter at the chest.

He pried his eyes away quickly, hoping that no one had seen him ogling her. The sketchbook in his satchel almost felt like it was burning, begging for him to etch her outline onto its pages. His fingers twitched in anticipation. Theodore grabbed a book instead – The Picture of Dorian Gray this time, took a seat next to Blaise on one of the carriages, and tried to settle down the endless possibilities of encapsulating Granger's image forever.

* * *

Theodore was brimming with anger, which did not bode well for his Potions essay that was at the mercy of his tightening grip. It had been stupid of him to think that no one else would notice her but him. Of course someone would take an interest, with all the new people surrounding them, at least one pair of eyes would have her on their radar.

Perhaps he had fooled himself into thinking that she was only for him. Her, tucked away in her library corner, surrounded by mountains of books, nibbling on the end of her quill as she sat in deep concentration. The image was practically burned into memory.

It was ruined now, replaced instead with the presence of an annoying Bulgarian sitting next to her, his eyes roving up and down her body greedily, twisting a curl unto his finger like he had a fucking right to do so.

Theodore hissed in fury, unable to look away as her face flushed prettily in the most exquisite color of pink, as a smile fell on her lips, a smile, that until a few months ago, had been a little too big for her.

He watched as Krum said something to her, and wished to Circe that he could hear whatever the snake was saying. She flushed even deeper, and Theodore had to resist standing to pummel the start seeker into a pulp. A nod of her head and a brilliant smile on her face made the older boy grin in triumph and Theodore began to realize what exactly was happening.

The Potions essay ripped right in half.

* * *

Theodore flinched, swiping his hand away from the one that had dared to settle on his arm. He looks up from his sketchbook, wondering who could possibly have the nerve to interrupt him. Not even Blaise did so. He stared blankly at Tracey Davis. She was in his year. She had short black hair and blue eyes and she was looking at him with them.

"Can I help you?" he asked coldly, closing the sketchbook discreetly. His eyes were blank, and his brow was raised expectantly.

Tracey fidgeted uncomfortably, "I – I was wondering if you already had a date to the Ball."

Theo sneered, remembering Her suddenly, "No."

The girl in front of him brightened considerably, "Then would you like to –"

"No." he repeated, turning back to his sketchbook to resume drawing. He ignored the hurt look that passed across her face, or the way Daphne Greengrass smirked when she went back to join the Slytherin girls.

"I _told_ you." Greengrass said snarkily, "Theo doesn't like _anyone_."

He hated that nickname. They didn't even _know_ him.

* * *

She was ethereal.

She was glowing.

She was a goddess amongst them.

It was as if she floated down the staircase, her entire visage shrouded in the Hogwarts candlelight. The soft blue material of her dress robes fell in waves at her feet, cinching in places that he never allowed himself to think about. Her hair was tamed, no longer the endearing mass of curls he had grown so familiar with seeing in the library, but a crown of golden brown waves held back to frame her face.

Her eyes, the eyes that he endlessly drew on the corners of his text books, or the margins of his parchments, were alight with a bright warmth and innocence that he wished was directed at him. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment the moment she noticed the number of stares trailed on her.

 _They_ hadn't even noticed her until tonight. Theodore thought bitterly as he watched several of his housemates' mouths hang open in shock. She had always been that way to him. Blindingly beautiful – exceedingly so that, sometimes, it hurt to look.

It wasn't like that tonight. Tonight, it hurt because she was on the arm of Viktor Krum, who was whispering into her ear as they begun the opening dance. His fist clenched at the sighed and fire danced behind his eyes in raging jealousy.

Theodore ripped his gaze away, find in it unbearable to watch as she laughed at something Krum said, eyes filling with mirth, head tipped in laughter, lips twisting in amusement. He could barely stop himself from sneering. Instead, he took a deep swig from his silver flask that he had finagled Mopsy into bringing for him.

The burn of firewhisky filled his throat, and he could somehow understand his father's obsession with the he drink. Instantly, his body filled with a warmth that was not entirely unwelcome. He took a seat in one corner next to Lawrence Selwyn, who had broken up with his girlfriend two days before the Ball, and was already showing signs of his own inebriation.

Against his will and better judgement, Theodore's eyes returned to her as she twirled about. He had never seen her like this – looking so free and light. It took his breath away that someone could ever look like that. He wondered what it was like.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco Malfoy dancing with Pansy Parkinson. The ferret-faced boy seemed to be disinterested in the waltz that he was engaged in, his eyes straying to something behind Parkinson.

Theodore followed his gaze and glowered once his own eyes fell upon Malfoy's line of vision. It had been the exact thing he himself was staring at moments before. His feet itched to walk straight to his housemate and slap the blank look off his face. Thankfully, he was saved from doing so by Pansy, who had noticed and consequently begun screeching. He tried to tamp down the chuckle that threaten to bubble up from his chest.

"Something funny?" asked Blaise, who had crept up to sit next to him. Theodore watched his only friend run a hand through his hair suavely, all the while looking at a silver robed Beauxbatons girl from across the room.

"Your date left you already?" Theodore snorted, "I wondered how long it would take for her to notice what a little shite you are."

"Bugger off," Blaise retorted playfully, "at least _I_ have a date."

"And what a miracle that bloody is." he replied.

"Better than whatever your poison is for tonight." Blaise said, scrunching up his nose, "Isn't it rather early for that?"

"It's either this or not show up at all." Theodore said.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you're panting to go running off to some dark room alone with your sketches and your mystery drawings." he said, rolling his eyes. "Are you ever going to tell me what it is that you doodle there?"

"Images of your demise," Theodore said somberly, with another sip from his flask, "they vary. Sometimes it's you with a slit throat, other times, it's death through asphyxiation after you've succeeded in annoying me too much."

"Ha, ha," Blaise pouted, "I know you love me, Nott."

"Your little French girl is looking over here," Theodore said, ignoring him, "and she looks a bit put out that you'd rather spend time with me than her."

Blaise shot to his feet immediately, his mouth twisting into a Cheshire grin, "I believe it's time for me to assume my wooing of the fair lass. Have fun with Selwyn, mate."

Theodore spared a glance to the piss drunk sixth year beside him before standing up to leave.

* * *

He had barely stepped a foot out of the Great Hall when a flurry of pale blue robes whizzed past him. He knew immediately that it was her, there was no mistaking it. He watched with intrigue as she ran out to one of the courtyards, making him wonder what had happened. Scenarios flashed through his mind of all the things that could have possibly occurred to worry her, scenes involving a certain _older_ Bulgarian that made him ball his hands into fists.

Silently he crept – he found that he was doing a lot of creeping when it came to her – behind a pillar to watch her. She was sitting on a stone bench, skirts fanned out underneath her, bathed in moonlight and wiping at her eyes.

A foreign feeling rose up from within him that urged him to go up to her and put an arm around her shoulders. He entertained the thought for a hundredth of a second before shaking his head. The Gryffindor sniffed loudly, taking a deep breath to try and calm her breathing.

Theodore fiddled with his pocket handkerchief, weighing the pros and cons, and somehow he found himself taking out his wand and levitating the scrap of white silk towards the crying girl. As soon as the piece of cloth dropped into her lap, he turned around and fled to the safety of the dungeons.

* * *

Blaise appeared in their dorms a little after nine in the morning on Boxing Day, still in his deep blue dress robes, his hair rumpled, and donning a shit eating grin on his face. The boy threw himself on Theodore's bed with a contented sigh.

"I _just_ fixed my sheets." Theodore groaned, shooting an annoyed look at his friend.

"I can't find it in me to care, Theo, my good man." Blaise sighed.

"I reckon you had a good night, then?" the other boy asked, rolling his eyes all the while trying to shove his open sketchbook under a pile of parchment on his desk.

"The best of nights." Blaise said dreamily.

"Ugh, you better not have done what I think you did, Zabini. Because I'd have to burn my sheets."

"Commence with the pyrotechnics, Theodore, because I did exactly what you think I did _and more._ " Blaise said, waggling his eyebrows.

Theodore narrowed his eyes at the boy and picked up the nearest thing he could get his hands on – a disenchanted snitch, one of Draco's maybe – and threw it at Blaise's head.

"Get off of my bed, you wanker." he growled.

The victim of the snitch attack merely sat up and strolled out of the room leisurely, whistling jovially as he did so. Theodore rolled his eyes, turning back to his desk. It was fairly late in the morning, and the rest of his dorm mates had already left for breakfast, but he had been too absorbed in what he was doing to care.

He heard the shower turn on from down the hall, and knew that he had at least thirty minutes before Blaise would be returning. His hands found his colored pencils easily, moving the scrap pieces of parchment aside to reveal his newest piece.

It was _her_ , of course, sitting on the bench in the courtyard from last night, but instead of crying, she was looking up at the moon, eyes glinting in the light, curls framing her face perfectly. He had been in the act of coloring in her dress when Blaise had wandered in, having only just charmed his colored pencil the perfect match to her dress color.

His thoughts flashed back to the night before, to the look of anguish that marred her soft features, and the sad sobs that came from her chest. He couldn't stand the thought of her hurting. It didn't matter that they were practically strangers to one another, it didn't matter that she couldn't care less what he thought. He hated that someone had hurt her.

Hermione Granger was kind, and warm, and loving – every bit of the Gryffindor she was supposed to be – it was what drew him towards her like a moth to a flame. Never in his life had he ever met someone like her, and he doubted he ever would again. You could see it in the way she looked at Potter and Weasley, or the way she spoke about her house elf protection thing, her heart held next to no bounds.

To think that someone had hurt that very heart angered him to no end. He didn't care if it was illogical to care so much about someone you barely knew, he did. The moment he had woken up, he had wanted to see her, to know if she was alright, but the voice in his head told him no, it was too big of a risk to take.

If his father ever found out, he would receive the worst flogging in his life. She was Potter's _Mudblood_ , the most forbidden of forbidden fruits. He shuddered to think what Thoros Nott would do if he knew his son harbor end feelings for a Muggleborn, but the worry was not wholly aimed towards himself.

The memory of a girl screaming helplessly played on repeat in his mind.

Blaise entered the room again, still whistling. Theodore dropped his pencil and closed the sketchbook, and tried his best to hide the fact that his hands were shaking.

* * *

 **a/n:** Where does the crush end and the obsession begin? Sadly this kind of reaction (a growing of a strong bond to a person who shows kindness/love) somewhat expected from those deprived of warmth in their home life or have been abused. What do you guys think? Also, am I or am I not updating super quickly?


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

 _"I care for no man on earth, and no man on earth cares for me."_

 _\- Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities_

* * *

Umbridge was a cow. He and Blaise had agreed on that immediately after the first Inquisitorial Squad meeting. He bet that even Draco thought so, though the young Malfoy was likely to let it slide in exchange for the unlimited power she gave him over his school mates.

The squad was composed of Slytherins from the Fourth year and up, who all seemed happy with the arrangement. Truth be told, Theodore couldn't find it in him to care. He had a book waiting for him in his dorm that begged to be finished and an half-done portrait he was working on. Blaise, too, seemed irked at being called into a responsibility he hadn't asked for, most likely itching to run off to his new flavor of the week – a Ravenclaw chit who should have known better.

Umbridge seemed adamant that Potter and his merry men had formed an illegal organization and were meeting at night somewhere in the seventh floor. Filch had already been thwarted several times while trying to catch them.

It was that conspiracy that led him, Blaise, Pansy, and Draco to the seventh floor that night, patrolling the halls. He kept his wand lit in a soft lumos, leading the group because Draco had grown bored with the silence and Pansy was too busy trying to win the blonde over.

The four were walking towards the corridor where the portrait of the dancing trolls were when he picked up the sound of soft footsteps running further from them. He looked behind him to see his housemate's preoccupied enough not to notice and quickened his steps just a bit.

Just as he rounded the corner, he spied a flash of brown curls and startled eyes looking straight at him like a doe about to be struck down. He dropped the _Lumos_ on his wand immediately, sending them into relative darkness.

" _What the hell, Nott?"_ the sound of Draco's voice echoed in the dark hall.

"Shite, sorry, my wand slipped." he lied, waiting for the sound of a door closing shut to recast the spell.

Light engulfed them again, revealing Draco's displeased scowl. "Well, there's no one here. Let's head back."

The ponce pranced off, Pansy trailing behind him. Blaise was looking at him oddly.

"You coming, mate?" his friend asked.

"Yeah," Theodore said after a heartbeat, sparing a second glance at the empty hallway.

* * *

He liked the library. It was quiet, and peaceful and no one disturbed him. Blaise barely set foot in the place, having been caught earlier in the year by Madam Pince in the Divination section with a giggling Hufflepuff and consequently banned for life.

O.W.L.s season was hectic, and he had been forced to set aside his books and sketches for Arithmancy equation sheets and historical rune formations. An intimidating letter from his father had arrived a week before, stating that if Theodore got anything less than an Exceeds Expectations on his report sheet, Thoros would take to _private tutoring_ for the summer.

Theodore was already on edge about returning home for the holidays as it was, his father had not been as inconspicuous about leaving the house the previous summer, nor was he as quiet as he thought when he would say " _Malfoy Manor_." to the Floo at the oddest times of night.

Thoros was old, he always had been. The elder Nott had married late in his life, when he was around his sixties, with his wife less than half his age. And despite the usual Wizarding age, that often surpassed an even century, his father was growing frail.

Theodore noticed the quake in the hands that beat him that had not been there the year before, and the dark bags under his eyes after being Summoned. He supposed he owed the Dark Lord one thing – his father hit him less that summer, seeming to be too tired. It was painfully obvious that his old man was deteriorating at an alarming rate. The indifference Theodore felt did not surprise him.

He knew his father expected him to pledge his allegiance to the Dark Lord. It would only be a while until he himself had his own Dark Mark. The thought shook Theodore to his core. Contrary to the believe of many, although he was Slytherin, the closest Theodore got to the Dark Arts was reading his father's books. A mere curiosity that he did not feed.

His thoughts were interrupted by a frustrated sigh from across the library. He picked his head up to observe the girl from afar. The mountains of reference books walled her in, only giving him a sliver of a vantage point to see her stressed expression.

She had put her hair up in a riotous bun that threatened to break out of its hold, and her nose was scrunched up in determination as she outlined something on one of the many text books laid out in front of her.

Hermione hadn't approached him after the mishap in the Seventh floor, and he had set his worries aside. She probably hadn't recognized him, or maybe she laughed the thought of a Slytherin helping her as a hilarious delusion.

It was for the better, really. He could focus on his studies and she could focus on hers without the weight of the knowledge that he had helped her between them.

Secretly, Theodore wondered what she would have done if she _had_ recognized him.

* * *

He didn't find out about how they had escaped Umbridge and run away from the school until Draco, Goyle, and Crabbe entered the common room sulkily.

Draco flopped down on the couch ceremoniously, a scout etched into his pointy feature. Crabbe was rubbing the back of his head, wincing every time he hit a certain spot.

"Where have you lot been, then?" Blaise asked, eyeing the trio, taking his eyes off the chess set in front of him while Theodore took his turn.

"Potter got caught sneaking into Umbridge's office," Draco sneered, "we were sent to deal with the rest of the motley crew, but there were more of them than we thought."

Blaise smirked nastily, "Couldn't handle a few lions, Malfoy?"

The boy being challenged glowered, beginning to fiddle with his wand, "I'd gladly show you how much I can handle, Zabini, if I didn't think you would go into cardiac arrest if I messed up a single hair on your head."

Blaise barked out a laugh, "I'd like to see you try."

Draco moved to get up, and Theodore, sensing an altercation he had neither the patience or time for, silenced the both of them. The two boys glared at him in accusation but he feigned ignorance, keeping his eyes on the chess pieces in front of him.

Draco, predictably, let out an inaudible huff and stomped out of the room in a fit of rage.

"What a bloody drama queen." Blaise muttered under his breath, having dismantled Theodore's charm.

"Checkmate." Theo said flatly, watching his friend's face twist into indignation.

"Bastard."

* * *

Over the years, he had repeated the words he was thinking in his head multiple times. Theodore wondered if there would ever be a day that he didn't think Granger and her friends were complete lunatics.

Today, apparently, was not going to be that day.

Word of the previous night's goings on trickled into the morning conversation like an ever flowing fount of gossip. At first, it was of how Potter had snuck into the Headmistress' makeshift office, which he already knew, then, it was how Umbridge had been led into the Forbidden Forest where she met her doom at the hands of rabid centaurs.

Theodore, although aware that it was unlikely, hoped that such a thing as rapid centaurs did exist, and had ripped the witch to shreds. The day dream was almost reality when the High Inquisitor had failed to show up at breakfast, only to be dashed by the announcement that she was at St. Mungo's to recuperate. From what, they hadn't shared.

But then the morning paper came in, and the faint trickle of gossip evolved into a rushing waterfall at the sight of the headline. Theodore paled upon seeing the bold letters on the front page, as well as a swirling picture that almost exuded darkness. **_He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Returns!_**

Theodore's shaking hands opened the paper to the next page, a feeling of dread settling into his stomach. The dread worsened, escalating to horror at the sight of twelve mugshots staring back at him. The name he was searching for was at the bottom, second to the last, and the ever familiar set of proud, intimidating eyes glared back at him, as formidable as ever.

 _Thoros Nott._

He felt the weight of a multitude of eyes on him and the rest of the Slytherin table, as well as the concerned brush of his friend's hand on his coat – barely evident but there nonetheless. His eyes hardened as he glared at his father's image, which was merely blinking up at him, as if challenging him to react.

Theodore folded the newspaper up stoically, his face betraying no sign of his unease, stood up, and without a word, left the Great Hall.

As soon as he was alone, his resolve quickly shattered and the young man broke into heavy, panicked, breaths, the all to familiar feeling of the walls closing in on him clouding his brain as he struggled for composure. He vaguely registered that his feet were stumbling towards the hospital wing, trying to find a Calming Draught. Never mind Pomfrey's knowing gaze, he needed a quick fix right now.

The Hospital Wing doors opened with a loud thud, and Theodore walking, still heaving, towards Pomfrey's office.

The matron looked harassed, which was odd at so early in the day, and was mumbling to herself about being glad that most of the silly children had left her care. She seemed to be fiddling with a set of potions.

" _Madam Pomfrey._ " Theodore gasped, making the older woman turn around in surprise.

Upon seeing him, her eyes widened comically, and she quickly conjured a chair for him to sit upon. He saw the realization cross her face and assumed that she had seen the paper, which made him breath all the more faster.

Faster than he thought possible, a potions bottle was unceremoniously shoved into his hand. He tossed it back, feeling the familiar cloud of quiet in his mind and tasting cotton. Immediately, he was able to take a deep, shaky breath.

The matron took the empty bottle, replacing it with a glass of water.

"Stay here, Mr Nott, I have to give Miss Granger her potions."

He had been about to swallow the water when the woman finished her sentence, and consequently choked it down.

Several rapid blinks later, he turned his head around to see Pomfrey offering up the tray of potions to the lone figure at the end of the row of hospital beds. Theodore watched quickly through curious eyes as the matron helped her sit up. The girl hissed audibly, a hand immediately reaching up towards her chest.

Madam Pomfrey's hands were quicker, slapping the offending limb out of the way, "The curse scar is healing, Miss Granger," she said primly, "give it time."

"Do you know what it was already?" came her tired sounding voice, "It still feels like it's burning a bit."

The older woman sighed forlornly, her austere façade cracking, "I'm afraid not, my dear, but we're working on it. You just rest now."

With that, she left the bedside, making her way back to the office. Theodore turned his head quickly, feigning ignorance.

"I trust you are well enough to see yourself off, Mr Nott?" asked the nurse with observant eyes.

"Yes, Madam." Theodore said, standing up slowly, "Thank you."

The woman nodded briskly from behind her desk as she busily ran through a dusty looking tome.

Theodore stepped out quickly, willing his feet to go faster, and cursing the Calming Draught for making him so sluggish.

A sound, a heavy thumping on the floor, made him turn in surprise. His eyes zeroed in on the pile of blankets and hospital robes on the floors few beds away, and his heart seemed to still as the pile began to move, a head of dark curls pushing through.

Against his better judgement, Theodore moved to help her, grimacing as he clutched her waist to steady her. He wondered when was the last time he touched someone of his own will besides Blaise.

When she had seemed to steady herself enough to stand on both feet, he released her as if he had just been burned, looking down at his hands in concealed horror. What the hell had come over him?

Theodore willed himself not to look at her, keeping his gaze low, he turned to leave. He didn't care that her hair was adorably rumpled, or that her eyes had widened into saucers in suppose. He pretended that he hadnt heard the soft gasp that tore itself out of her lips the moment he helped her up, that her skin wasn't as soft as he imagined it would be.

"Theodore." came her soft voice a handful of feet away from him, halting him in his tracks.

"Yes?" he said gruffly, forcing himself not to turn to face her. He knew that if he looked into her eyes he would be trapped there forever.

"I'm sorry." she whispered, "For your father."

He wished she didn't sound so anguished, wished that the regret in her voice didn't pierce through his heart like a spear. The urge to tell her that he didn't care filled him. He longed to shout that he didn't give a damn whether Thoros m was in Azkaban or not. In fact, it was better that he was. But he swallowed the words down, he didn't want to scare her.

"Yeah." he said lamely, grimacing at his response. He heard her let out a small sigh.

"Thank you, for helping me." she said in a voice so soft that it didn't sound like her. He adored her voice, it was kind, and calming, and strong all at once, but now, as she talked to his back in the Hogwarts hospital wing, she sounded lacking – _weak_ – and if he knew one thing, it was that Hermione Granger was not weak.

He turned around then, willingly trapping himself under her brown eyed gaze, "You're welcome." he said, tonelessly, "I hope you get better soon."

He saw her open her mouth to reply, forming words he would never hear, because before they could be said, he had turned abruptly, and left, his footsteps echoing loudly on the stone floor.

* * *

Theodore knew a thing or two about funerals.

First, it was his mother, who had been buried behind Nott Manor, in pale blue robes looking so serene that it scared him enough to give him nightmares.

Then, it was his grandparents, who had died hours apart in their sleep. They had been set to rest in one grave, their hands interlinked and withered with age.

Now, it was his father, who he had nothing left of except the ashes the Ministry had sent him along with the letter stating that the man had died in prison, succumbing to illness in the cold, damp walls of Azkaban.

It hadn't surpised him all too much.

Thoros was old for a father, and his habits had reduced his health so much that one could barely call it his health.

Theodore had ordered Mopsy to dig a hole into the ground, choosing a spot as far from his mother's as possible, and told the elf to place the urn in the ground under a small gravestone with the man's name, birthday, and deathday.

His father's solicitor came to the Manor a day after his father's "funeral", looking rather nervous, as if he expected Theodore to be exactly like Thoros. He introduced himself as Mr Wimple

He led the man, a thin, bespectacled wizard in unflattering grey robes into a sitting room instead of the study, where they immediately went to business after a few insincere condolonces.

"Lord Nott had named you sole heir to the Nott fortune and estates, although, because – erm – because of the situation – erm –"

"You mean because my father was a known Death Eater?" Theodore asked blankly, making the man sputter.

"Y-yes, the M-ministry has seized almost a-all your assets, Lord Nott."

"Don't call me that." Theodore snapped, "Mr Nott is fine."

"Of course, yes, Mr Nott," said the wizard anxiously.

"What is available to me as of the moment, then?" he asked tiredly.

"T-he papers to release the vaults from the Ministry's hold are being processed, seeing as you are not, n-not a known D-death Eater, sir. But as of the moment, your mother's trust is within your rights."

"Very well." Theodore said, "Do what you have to do, then. Send me the key to my trust as soon as possible."

He waited for the man to stand and leave. When he didn't, Theodore sighed, standing up himself.

"You may go, Mr Wimple," he said simply, "Thank you."

The man scurried out, escorted by Mopsy, leaving Theodore alone. He would be lying if he said that the house felt even more eerie as it usually was. His father's presence was like an evil shadow that had seeped into everything he had touched.

This was all he had left, a house, an elf, and himself. The magnitude of his aloneness hit him then, he had _no one._

He ran hand through his hair, exhausted all of a sudden, and was jolted from his reverie by a knocking on one of the glass windows.

Looking around, he wondered who could possibly be sending him an owl, the letters of condolences had all been accounted for the moment his father's death had been published in the Prophet, and Blaise was in Italy, and would not be awake at this hour.

Theodore opened the window to let the plain looking barn owl in. It was a post owl, judging by the orange cord around one of its legs – one you could hire per letter sent.

He offered a bowl of owl treats to the tiny thing while untying the cream colored envelope from one of its legs. The seal wasn't of a specific house, just a plain H stamped on the purple wax.

The single sheet of parchment held a single line of small, cramped hand writing.

 _Theodore,_

 _I offer you my sympathy for the loss of your father and wish you peace in this trying time._

 _Hermione Granger_

One look at the sender's name sent the piece of parchment falling to the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

 _"He stepped down, trying not to look too long at her as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking."_

 _\- Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina_

* * *

Theodore was not an overly sentimental person. He was barely sentimental as it was, so the appearance of a certain young woman's handwriting on parchment stuck magically on the first page of his sketchbook was an odd occurrence.

Both his name and hers had been spelled to stick onto the paper next to one of his better sketches of her, and he cursed his absurdity every time he saw the scraps of parchment. It was foolish of him to think that there was more meaning in the letter than it seemed, but he thought it anyways.

Funnily enough, the thought of her had kept him company in the large manor house he was trapped in for the summer. His days were spent on the sunroom surrounded by paints and pencils, only to be disturbed by Mopsy when it was time for a meal.

Blaise visited every now and then, likely to make sure his friend was still alive and breathing. On those days, he set his art aside and the two had Mopsy apparation them anywhere they wanted; anywhere away from everything else.

Blaise maintained his neutrality along with his mother, and Theodore wanted nothing to do with the Dark Lord. His father was no longer alive to force him to join the ranks, and without that influence, Theodore could not be made to do anything. He kept to himself and did not leave the manor, lest he be swooped down on by Death Eaters. He and Blaise ran off to Italy and Switzerland and Greece, anywhere You Know Who had not yet tainted, and tried to live. It was the most free Theodore had ever felt in his life.

Blaise chose to keep mum on his friend's sudden change, though he knew exactly what had caused it. Thoros' death had allowed Theodore a chance to finally breathe, and consequently, a chance to live.

The two Slytherins held no false hopes that they would be spared by the war looming ahead of them, but they tried their best to ignore it as much as they could, all the while making sure that the other would be safe.

Blaise had already arranged an emergency Portkey for both him and Theo in case fighting broke out abruptly, and he kept it close to him at all times.

Theodore sighed as he watched Mopsy pack the last of his things into his Hogwarts trunk, running a finger through the leaves of his sketchbook absently.

* * *

Theodore had known Draco was up to something all year, but neither he nor Blaise would ever have guessed that he was out to kill the headmaster.

The stories of Albus Dumbledore's death and the Death Eaters infiltrating Hogwarts was splayed out on the front page of the Prophet the first thing the next morning. Snape had been the one to kill Dumbledore in the end.

Classes had been suspended and exams postponed. Several parents pulled their children out of school immediately after the new broke out. Theodore stayed to watch the chaos, and maybe, to keep an eye he on her.

Blaise had tried to drag him back to Italy with him, but he refused point blank. There was no threat yet. Resignedly, his friend had left, shoving a broken pocket watch in his hands before leaving.

Theodore held on to the Portkey every moment of the day. It lay nestled safely in his pocket just in case. But the castle was eerily quiet, the death of the headmaster seemed to affect everything. The professors were tasked with the funeral and the remaining students were left to their own devices – with certain restrictions.

He noticed that a certain girl's presence was scarce, only appearing at meal times with her friends alongside her. He also noticed the way she pushed her food around, and how her cheeks had become just sallow enough to be seen. Potter and Weasley were as oblivious as always.

On the day of Dumbledore's funeral, they were led outside to witness it and pay their respects. After the wizard had been finally laid to rest, everyone twittered about, as they moved back into the castle. With all the students crushed together, he saw his opportunity.

Spying her tell-tale hair and Gryffindor robes, he pushed past her and slipped the envelope into her pocket through a slight of hand and slicked away, wondering if she would heed his advice to start taking care of herself and keep safe.

* * *

She most certainly had _not_ taken his advice.

At first, he thought that breaking into the Ministry of Magic was the worst that they could do, but then, the papers came into Hogwarts and he and Blaise hunched over a copy of the Prophet reading about how the Golden Trio had now broken into Gringotts, escaping on top of a dragon.

When the fighting ensued and Snape had fled and Harry Potter had returned to Hogwarts, he caught his first glimpse of her in a year and what he saw made his stomach turn. Her hair was a mess, and her eyes wild, she had cuts and bruises all offer her, her clothes were ragged and she had thinned so drastically that it genuinely scared him.

When Slughorn led the Slytherins into the dungeons he fought his Head of House, shouting that he wanted to _help_. Blaise had pulled him aside, gripping his robes tightly.

" _What the fuck are you playing at, Theo?_ " he hissed, " _We need to leave_ now!"

Theodore shoved his best friend away. "You go. I'm staying here."

He ran as fast as he could to catch up with the portly professor, when Slughorn saw him, the man opened his mouth to tell him to go back.

"Professor, I'm of age, I'm not a Death Eater. _Let me help!_ " he pleaded.

Slughorn sighed, "You can help Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing."

"But Professor!"

"You will swear that you will only help heal, Mr Nott, or you will not help at all." Slughorn glowered, "I will not be responsible for the death of a pureblood heir."

Theodore glared at the man before nodding tersely, "I swear."

A band of light magic swirled between them and vanished, Slughorn nodded. "Go on, boy."

* * *

Theodore kept his word.

Pomfrey let him in with a stern word of caution and a few instructions. Every time a witch or wizard came into the infirmary, he and a few other people scurried to help. He heard the explosions and the spellfire throughout the castle and wished to Merlin he was outside.

Thoughts swirled through his mind of her fighting for her own life while he dressed wounds and repaired bones. A few students he knew looked at him warily before letting him heal them. A few times the blasts from curses were so bad that even with the protection spells and warding cast in the Hospital Wing, the walls shook. Under his breath, he had cast several more spells to layer the protective wards and strengthen them.

A Gryffindor limped her way into the infirmary, one arm over Seamus Finnegan's. Theodore quickly moved to sling her other arm on his shoulder.

"I'll take her from here." he said.

Finnegan shot him a look of disbelief before reaching for his wand.

"Mr Finnegan," Madam Pomfrey's voice echoed from the nearest patient, catching their attention, "leave Miss Patil with Theodore."

Theodore's mouth fell in shock. Pomfrey had never stood by him before, she barely even gave him potions, now she was addressing him informally?

Finnegan turned to the girl, "You're goin' to be fine, Parvati."

The Patil twin nodded shakily, "Go, Seamus, they need you."

Theodore helped her onto a makeshift bed, trying to avoid touching her affected leg.

"What happened?" he asked.

"An orange curse," she hissed, "I don't know what it is but it feels like it's burning."

"How bad is the pain?"

"It's getting worse." She groaned.

"Madam Pomfrey!" he shouted, drawing the older woman to him. He relayed the information and the nurse set to work just as the Dark Lord's voice echoed hauntingly through the halls. He stopped in his tracks, shivering at the sound. A scream pierced the infirmary and Theodore was beckoned back to work.

They had one hour.

People came pouring in to receive potions and treatment and they barely even looked at him anymore, they just wanted the pain gone. He searched through the sea of broken limbs and bleeding wounds to find her face, trying to catch even a glimpse of her, but she never showed.

He tamped down the feeling of dread that filled him.

She was alive. She couldn't not be.

* * *

If anyone had been anywhere near him during the aftermath of the battle, they would have heard him raining thanks towards the gods who had heard his prayers. All throughout his life, he had never considered himself a lucky person, but this was the luckiest he had felt in his lifetime.

There she stood, huddled amongst several heads of red hair, next to Potter and Weasley, looking worse for wear. If he had thought she looked ghastly before, he should have seen her now. She was bleeding in more places than he could count, and was walking around with a limp, her face was stained with tears and her hair was, to put it nicely, out of control.

And yet, she was still the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Theodore had dreaded coming down to the Great Hall, the fear of finding her lifeless body laid flat on the cold floor had grown with every step he took from the Hospital. Pomfrey had rounded them up to attend to the victims downstairs, and the matron was already busying herself with an Order member who had a cut slashed through one eye.

Seeing her, he let out the breath he hadn't known he was keeping in. After a handful of. I uses, he quickly realized he had been staring, and hastily approached Madam Pomfrey to begin helping. Every now and then, his eyes strayed onto her figure, his hands itched to heal her, and he longed to pepper her with questions, but he forced himself to stop.

He resigned himself to observing her from afar, as he had done all this time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

 _"The pieces I am, she gathered them and gave them back to me in all the right order."_

 _\- Tom Morrison, Beloved_

* * *

Returning to Hogwarts for its restoration was not the choice many people expected of him, least of all Blaise, who was quick to run off to Italy for the summer.

His best friend had served him a sharp scolding and a knock upside the head once they had reunited after the battle, but Theodore kept his reason about why he had had a sudden impulse to help during the battle to himself. He knew for a fact that his reason would have flabbergasted the Italian, and divulging it would only lead to more questions.

Truth be told, Hermione Granger was not the only reason he was sacrificing his time to rebuild the castle. He had considered Hogwarts to be his home for the better part of seven years, his only home, in fact. Seeing his place of refuge torn down and in shambles tugged on his mostly atrophied heartstrings just enough to urge him to send a letter to the new Headmistress.

And so that was how he found himself here, on the shore of the Black Lake, covered in a fine sheen of sweat that he tried to will the summer breeze to dry. A group of volunteers, including him, had turned up precisely as the clock strikes eight, and they had been working for four hours straight.

McGonagall had invited them all for lunch in what remained of the Great Hall, but Theodore had chosen to stay behind. He had been oddly relieved to see the willow tree on the edge of the lake still standing, somehow spared by spellfire. He could recall many a day he spent there, shrouded by leaves, on the days Blaise spent wooing his women and when She was nowhere to be seen in the library.

He pulled out his sketchbook now, shrinked to fit in the pocket of his robes. A quick spell restored it to full size, and he took his seat on one of the large sprawling tree roots, balancing the book on his knees. It was not quite full yet, though it was getting there. He considered it a feat that the pages weren't fit to burst. In the past year, he had drawn so much that his wrist had developed a slight ache.

Skimming through the pages he knew so well, the evident lack of Her face was somewhat off putting. Without his muse, he had been forced to draw other things, landscapes mostly, the lake frozen over, the horizon overlooking the Forbidden Forest, glimpses of a Quidditch pitch. One of his favorites was a drawing of the library, he had used watercolor to fill in the stained glass windows, the lights in cast onto the empty table she usually sat in.

His gaze faltered on the chair he had left pushed back, vacant, at the time, he had wished She had been sitting in front of him, and if he imagined hard enough, it was almost as if she had left only for a moment to maybe check out another book on her ever growing pile, or talk to Madam Pince.

He would have been lying if he said that he hadn't hoped to see her here today. Theodore had been so sure that she would help that he hadn't been able to mask the the feeling of disappointment at seeing the group gathered today.

So busy was he in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed the vines of the willow tree push back from behind him. The soft gasp from the intruder was what drew him out of his reverie.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "I hadn't realized someone was already here."

Theodore stared at her, mouth slightly agape.

There she was, standing awkwardly before him, looking embarrassed.

Her hair was longer, he noticed, the curls tumbling past her shoulders, tamed by the weight of the length. Her eyes were brighter, less angry, less frightened. The cheekbones that had jutted out painfully when he had last seen her were now plump, full of life, as well as stained pink.

It took him a moment to realize he had been staring.

"I-I was just leaving." he managed to stammer out.

"Oh, no! Please don't, I'll just –" she broke off into silence, and he followed her gaze to find her staring at his open sketchbook, "Did you draw that?"

He tried covering the page with his hand, the other was gripping tightly onto the rest of the book, fearful that it might fall and open onto a drawing of her visage.

"Er, yes." he said, wanting to curse his traitorous cheeks for heating up at her curious stare.

"May I see?" she said, offering a small smile.

Theodore hesitated, before taking his hand away.

There was that gasp again.

Soft and sweet, and so very much like her that it shot straight into his heart.

"It's beautiful, Theodore." she said, eyes scanning the page in wonder.

"Thank you, Hermione." he said, watching as she leaned into him for a closer look.

His other hand still gripped the sketchbook tightly. Just one drawing, for now.

* * *

Towards the end of the Hogwarts restoration, they found themselves gravitating towards one another, Theodore more so than usual. Somehow, they had ended up paired off to fix up the library and help Madam Pince.

She had explained to him a few days after their encounter at the willow tree that Potter and Weasley could not find the time to give a hand, the two's time was solely focused on their Auror training. Neither of her friends were returning for their repeat year either. Theodore had confided that Blaise had opted not to attend either, laughing in his face when he had suggested it.

Oddly enough, they had found a friendship in one another that seemed easy most of the times and strained every now and then. A few people had whispered behind their backs in the first weeks they had begun talking to each other, but now, in the middle of August, the rest of the volunteer group had grown accustomed to their odd pairing. Longbottom had even begun speaking to him casually when their paths would cross.

"Theodore, why don't you show me more of your drawings?" Hermione asked abruptly from her place beside him.

They were seated at one of the long library tables sorting out books that needed fixing in the bindings or cleansed of dark magic. Yesterday, they had only just finished repairing the tall, towering bookshelves that stood empty throughout the library.

Theodore stayed silent, feeling a discomfort at not wanting to lie to her. But she wasn't ready for his drawings yet.

"I never thanked you." he said, reaching for a book.

She stared at him blankly in confusion.

"For your letter, after my father's death." he added.

"Oh," she said, sounding unsure.

He reached for another book, the silence heavy around them.

"I never thanked you either." she said after a long moment.

He looked at her then, but it was her turn to avoid his eyes.

"For your handkerchief, after the Yule Ball."

Theodore could feel himself tense.

"What?" he choked out.

"After I stormed out. The handkerchief you levitated to me." she said shyly.

"You knew it was me?" he asked, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

"Of course, there are only so many people in Hogwarts with the initials T.N., and it was obvious what your house was, seeing some as they were embroidered in green and silver."

Theodore let out a strained laugh. "You knew it was me all along?"

Hermione smiled, mirroring the flush of his cheeks in her own, "You're not as discreet as you think you are, Theodore."

"Apparently not." he muttered.

* * *

"Hello." he said, creeping up from behind her.

She shrieked in surprise, turning to face him and pin him down with a glare. He merely smirked at her annoyed expression.

"Oh, ha ha." she sneered, "Is there a reason why you sent me a rather insistent biting letter this late at night? You _know_ I have a Potions test tomorrow."

"Yes, yes, I am aware, I have the same test tomorrow." he grinned, "But I also know you've been studying for the test for a week straight."

"What do you want, Theodore?" she huffed, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Happy birthday." he said, smiling tentatively, conjuring up his present.

Her eyes widened in surprise, hand reaching out reflexively to take the flat parcel. It was thin, and he saw her lips curl knowingly.

He watched her peel back the wrapping paper gingerly. He had made sure to spellotape the ends at the back, to make sure she didn't steal any glances. Hermione turned the sketchbook paper over and let out a gasp.

Theodore reveled in the way her face lit up with wonder upon seeing the sketch. It was one of his old ones, one of the most memorable, depicting the very scene she had accused him of disturbing a few weeks prior, it instead of the anguish she had felt that night, her Yule robes in disarray, her face was alight in a brilliant smile.

Hermione's eyes snapped up to meet his, and before he knew it, his arms were full of her, and his face was met with a mess of curls. He felts her arms wrap around his torso, barely reaching the whole way through. Her face was buried in his chest, the feel of having her in his arms made him tighten his hold around her instinctively.

"Thank you." he heard her mumble.

"You're welcome." he said, smiling.

* * *

The first time she kissed him, she had just returned from celebrating Christmas with the Weasleys. The family of redheads had adopted her after she had found out the damage to her parents' memory was permanent. He had found this out about her one night a week into the restoration of the castle. They had then proceeded to sneak into the kitchens and swipe a bottle of Firewhiskey that was drained by the end of the night.

She came back the afternoon of Christmas Day, finding him in his usual haunt. He had cleared the inside of the willow tree of snow, the grass was green under his feet, and he was once again immersed in a sketch.

"Knock, knock." she said, announcing her arrival.

Theodore turned to look at her in surprise. "I thought you said you weren't coming back until tomorrow."

"I couldn't find it in myself to stay away." she grinned, rolling her eyes.

He laughed at her teasing.

"I have a present for you." she said, smiling, reaching into her beaded bag.

He set his sketch aside, moving to allow her to sit next to him. She sat, dropping the present in his lap, and looking at him expectantly.

Theodore tore the wrapping paper, trying to hide his excitement. The silver paper peeled away to reveal an emerald green leather sketchbook, a dainty monogram of his initials right in the middle. A loop was fastened onto the side of the sketchbook, holding what seemed to be a metal pencil.

"They're both charmed to never run out." Hermione said, looking at him, obviously proud with her present, "The paper is spelled so that ink and paint will never seep or bleed."

Theodore smiled gratefully. Ever since she had found out he could draw, Hermione had never stopped pushing him to create. He had never felt such support in his life, and the fact that she just believed in him made his heart fill with warmth.

"Thank you," he said, setting the present aside. "I love it."

A moment passed between them.

"Well?" she said, raising a brow.

"Well, what?" he smirked.

"Come off it, Theodore, where's my present?" she asked, making him bark out a laugh.

"Demanding witch." he muttered, but he reached into his robes anyways. His hand came back holding a small box. Hermione seemed to visibly deflate.

"No painting?" she asked with a pout.

Theodore chuckled, and pressed the gift into her hand, urging her to open it. She tore the paper away to find a black velvet jewelry box. Her dainty fingers pried the lid open, once her eyes met the beautifully engraved oval locket nestled inside, she let out another of her small gasps.

"Theodore…" she said breathlessly.

"Open it." he said.

Hermione pulled the locket out, the gold chain wrapping around her fingers. The locket clicked open at her touch and instantly, she raised her head to look at him. Her eyes glistened with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment.

"None of that, now." he said firmly, swiping his thumb under her eye to catch an offending teardrop.

"Theodore…"

"Here, let me help you." he said, taking the necklace and looping it around her neck. The locket nestled perfectly on the hollow of her neck, rising and falling with each breath. The images he had drawn on minuscule sheets of parchment gazed back at him, the deep chocolate eyes of her father looking warmly at him, next to the brilliant smile of he mother.

"Do you like it?" he asked quietly.

"Theodore, I _love_ it." she whispered, leaning into him.

He had been expecting her embrace.

Theodore had grown used to it in the months of their friendship. He had always known Hermione to be a touchy person, her touch was welcome to him, compared to that of others'.

What he had not expected was the soft press of her lips onto his own, hesitant and sweet.

She pulled away, looking up at him through her lashes, cheeks as bright red as his own.

"I'm sorry." she said, eyes wide in horror, trying to move away.

Theodore pulled her back roughly, catching her lips in his.

"Finally." he whispered after pulling away, making her uncharacteristically giggle.

* * *

The first time she had seen his scars, she had looked at him in horror. They peppered his shoulders and back, some faded in time, some still dark, barely two years old.

He had looked at her with eyes so full of shame that she took his face in her small hands and kissed him softly.

"He was a bastard." she whispered, tears falling from her face for him.

"They don't hurt anymore." Theodore said.

"He's still a bastard." she hissed angrily.

They crept out of the castle that night, Apparating to his ancestral home.

She had instructed Mopsy to collect every portrait ever mad of his father, and together, they cast spell after spell, blasting each one to smithereens, burning the remains, and throwing the ashes into the lake behind his house.

Theodore had watched her through the flames, in all her righteous fury, wondering how such a little witch could hold so much passion.

He knew he loved her then, but perhaps he had known that for a long time.

* * *

Hermione exited the Ministry entrance, wrapping her scarf around her neck. She cursed Kingsley for making her come back on Christmas Day, but it had been a routine as of late since she had been promoted to Department Head, after all, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement couldn't run itself.

But today, she was particularly annoyed at the disturbance, considering as it was both the Holidays and her anniversary. She and Theodore had started dating four years ago today, and she was supposed to be making dinner right this moment.

He would be coming back from his new art gallery in France soon, and she still hadn't done anything.

The walk to their shared town house from the ministry was a quick one, just a few blocks, and even though she was short on time, she had chosen to walk, enjoying the time to herself. She passed by the familiar sights of London, walking down shopfronts and –

Hermione's feet stopped short in front of a building that, up to that day, had been empty for as long as she could remember. That evening, however, it glowed brightly with light and the odd feeling of magic. She recognized it as a Notice-Me-Not Charm, which was odd, since she could see it clear as day.

The plain white walls inside glowed brightly through the shop windows, it seemed to be an art gallery of some sort. Her mind flashed to Theodore for a quick moment. He had left early that morning to Floo to Paris, only sparing time for Christmas. His new gallery would be opening after the New Year, and he had been stressed out of his skin for weeks.

But it was the norm for them now, with Theodore growing popular in both Magical and Muggle communities in the art world, and her buried in Ministry work, the couple barely had any time to themselves.

She sighed sadly before entering the gallery, thinking that if it was interesting enough, she would mention it to her boyfriend.

There was no one insight, so, as she always did, her curiosity overcame her and took the liberty of approaching the first art piece.

It was gorgeous, to say the least, the dark charcoal lines were both precise and chaotic at the same time and the young girl's eyes were –

Her gasp filled the empty space and her eyes widened in shock.

It was _her_.

Twelve year old Hermione sat in her little library nook, face buried in books, her face lit by a candle.

Hermione looked around, trying to find anyone, but the gallery remained vacant. Her heart rate picked up as she moved to the next piece, and the next, and the next.

Her smiling brightly, face turned to the side, a flash of bright red hair was drawn in on one corner, and a flash of black hair on the other.

Her in a hospital bed, eyes open, and staring straight into the viewer, sparkling and alight.

Her in lilac dress robes, twirling about the dance floor in the arms of a man who had not been her date that night, her head tipped in laughter, cheeks flushed in happiness.

Her looking back, the Room of Requirement door behind her, shrouded in torchlight.

Her after the battle, war-torn and bloody, fierce-faced and triumphant.

There were more, sketches of her, paintings of her, in charcoal and ink and pastels and oils and watercolor. Hermione wiped away tears that had begun to slip down her face.

Almost too soon, she walked towards the last piece, this one was framed in gold instead of silver. The paint looked fresh and she recognized in the back of her mind that she had on the same dress she was wearing in the painting, the same scarf, and her hands were brought to her face in surprise, there were tears in her eyes.

Kneeling in front of her was Theodore, looking up the same way he always did – with eyes evident with devotion and love – holding in his hands a black jewelry box…

She gasped again, the painting registering in her brain.

Hermione turned around to face him, hands to her face to control her sobs. Her boyfriend was kneeling in front of her, a smile on his face that she had never seen before – one of complete and utter happiness.

"Hermione –" he began.

" _Yes!_ " she shouted, kneeling as well to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him close.

"I haven't asked yet, you barmy witch!" he growled, amused at her reaction.

"I don't care!" she said, kissing him soundly, "Yes, yes yes! Don't say anything, this is perfect."

"Silly witch," he said, shaking his head, but sliding the ring onto her finger anyway, "I had a speech prepared and everything."

"You don't need to say anything." she said, as he pulled her to stand.

"I'm still going to say it." he whispered, "This is all for you, love. Everything I've ever made is for you. You're the reason I am who I am today. The reason why I'm still sane. You saved me, not knowing you were doing it, and when you knew I need it, you saved me then, too.

"You've shared your life with me, your home, your happiness, and have given me everything I always wanted, but never in a million years thought I would have. And in turn, I've shared with you my secrets, my scars, and everything in between.

"I want to give you more than that. You know, more than anyone how much I love you, but I want to prove it to you until the day I can't anymore.

"Hermione Jean Granger, will you marry me?"

"But I've already said yes." she giggled.

Hermione was folded into his tight embrace.

"I love you." she said, looking up at him, eyes shining in sheer joy.

"I love you." he returned, pressing his lips to her forehead.

* * *

 **a/n :** Tada! I had so much fun writing this last chapter! I hope you enjoyed reading it! See you at my next fic! I'm off to write my HG/SB fic.


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